Cold Sunlight
by ringaroundtherollins
Summary: Baron Corbin is the Lone Wolf: brooding, arrogant, running free and forward from his past. Choosing to be alone feels safer than vulnerability. He vows to never let anyone break his walls again. It just might take an obnoxious, gentle, perhaps naive soul to tame his skittish heart. Maybe the Wolf can once again learn to love and be loved. New ship: Baron Corbin/Bo Dallas [Dalbin.]
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This pairing may sound weird. Like, really, really weird. But I came up with this ship earlier, and after talking it over with some cool friends on Tumblr, I realized how much sense it could make. Sun and moon, day and night; outgoing and outspoken social outcast encounters a lone wolf with a dark past. Plenty of room for development, right? So I'm taking it places. Let me know what y'all think.**_

* * *

It was just an act. All part of an act.

Baron Corbin stood proud and fulsome, unsmiling, beside the Andre the Giant memorial trophy. He absorbed the chants of " _NXT! NXT! NXT_!" shaking the chockfull arena. Listened to Cole and Co. express their interest in the superstar, congratulating his efforts and telling the story of a bright future. He could enjoy the moment, sure. Live there for now.

But he couldn't stay.

By the time this was over he'd revert to his brooding self.

It crept up on him even sooner than expected, as he towed the glimmering trophy with him backstage. Superstars he passed by were far too busy contemplating their own 'Mania matches, whether they were up and coming or long over. There was Kalisto, celebrating a victory over Ryback with his partner, Sin Cara. There was Dean Ambrose, talking it up with Roman Reigns about Triple H and Brock Lesnar and victory and defeat and, in Ambrose's words, "not enough blood." There were those damn Social Outcasts, hooting and hollering about "going viral"—mostly Slater, anyway. High-fives and hugs and back pats and butt slaps like this was a goddamn football game.

No congratulations for Baron Corbin. Anyone who touched him didn't mean to and wouldn't even apologize for bumping into him.

Why should he have expected anything different in these parts?

He was a loner in the NXT and he'd be a loner here.

That's the way the world worked.

That's the way he wanted it.

The locker room was overcrowded. Showers turning on and off, towels whipping, far more body parts of his fellow athletes than Baron cared to see. Noise and conversation and laughter and traded insults resonated off the walls, between the bays of lockers. It was madness here, pure madness. Not even NXT Takeover events had this much bedlam to them.

 _Can't you all just shut up_?

His locker was naturally too small to store his trophy in, so he kept it close by, balancing it on a bench and waiting for clearance before hitting the shower. Not that he expected anyone to steal his prize. He'd tear the hair from the scalp of the man foolish enough to try.

No compliments. No welcomes. Not even a second glance.

Baron Corbin lifted gray eyes to all of them.

It was easier not to care.

One or two at a time, wrestlers filed out of the locker room. Peace obtainable at last. Evidently the Rock had some discourse prepared for his return to Wrestlemania and _everyone_ was just _thrilled_ to hear what he had to say.

Baron kneaded the taut skin of his bicep where he'd taken a hit early on in the battle royal. The area was tender but nothing he couldn't shake off. A bruised bone, at the very most. It took a lot to hurt a brute like Baron Corbin.

Quite a lot.

If he wanted, he could fool himself into thinking the pain had something, if only a little, to do with the burn marks on that same bicep. He could still envisage that particular discomfort as if they were seconds old and not years.

The tattoos concealed them.

Pain was meant to be forgotten, scars to heal. But this was his life now. Hurt came with the package. Absolute guarantee.

Cordial teasing between Dolph Ziggler and Sami Zayn resonated as the door creaked shut. He was alone again.

Baron Corbin undressed and, leaving his trophy unattended, stepped into a hot shower. The water was generous to his strained muscles. He took his time, rinsing off, letting water trickle from his matted locks. This is the way it should, and would be. He only needed himself.

Even if _himself_ was an asshole sometimes.

He could still feel those burn marks. No amount of alleviation could distract from those.

Baron let himself soak for a long time before drawing out of heated, wet isolation. He shut the water off and tied his towel around his waist. Time to get the hell out of here. He'd had his 'Mania moment. He'd yelled and rejoiced and received the praise, but he hadn't smiled.

If he did, it hadn't really been intended. Or sincere.

Just an act. All part of an act.

Baron Corbin rounded the corner and, as pleasantly warm as he'd been just moments ago, froze in place.

He thought he'd been alone.

But Bo Dallas stood before _his_ trophy, admiring it with a certain flicker in his eye—jealousy, perhaps?—still garbed in the singlet he'd worn in the battle royal. Bo moved those smiling eyes—even without lips, his eyes managed to somehow smile on their own, there was no other way to describe it—onto Baron's nearly-nude physique.

"Hi," Bo said, clasping his hands together. "Um, I didn't really get a chance to talk to you earlier, 'cause, y'know, we were fighting and stuff, but I wanted to welcome you to the WWE."

Baron didn't move. Couldn't if he wanted to. Bo was sort of in his way and he wasn't dropping his towel in front of the kid.

"Um," Bo said, filling the silence, "I know you probably already know who I am. But I thought it'd be kinda rude to just, y'know, let you walk on by and not say hi. So hi! Here I am."

Baron's lips parted as if to speak, but they pressed together. _What the hell is he doing…? Why?_

Bo's yearning to speak was unyielding. "I know you're from the NXT. And you're good. I've seen you fight, man, and you just rock it every time. I'm from the NXT too. Um, wasn't sure if you knew that or not. I know what it's like down there. Nice, right? Good people. Sorry, I'm rambling, uh…"

This was kind of adorable, in a pathetic way. But Baron still couldn't comprehend this. Of all the guys to talk to him tonight, for someone to actually _welcome_ him to the business… _Bo Dallas_?

"Anyway." Bo Dallas tugged his hands apart, only to clap them together again before his face. His entire countenance was so damn bright. "I know you're drippy over here and probably want me to buzz off so you can get dressed. But I just wanted to introduce myself and say hi, welcome. So. Hi. Welcome. Oh, and congratulations on your win tonight. It was a tough match, but you made it through okay."

Amazingly, Bo Dallas lifted a hand towards Baron.

Baron stared it down like it was a snake.

Hospitality was a stranger.

 _Use your words, Corbin. Don't be a fucking idiot over here_.

"Uh…" Baron tried.

 _Wow, you're exciting and interesting. No wonder everybody hates you, you dick_.

Bo pressed his lips together, patiently waiting for an answer. One way or the other. Didn't matter. _Let him in or shut him down, Corbin, but for God's sakes, stop standing here like a dumb asshole_ …

"Hi." The word alone strangled him. He forced another out past his constricted throat: "Thanks."

Bo lowered his hand before Baron considered shaking it. The light in his eyes had dwindled but it hadn't completely departed. _Kid's too happy. It's annoying. I beat him tonight. I beat all of them_.

 _But does that really make you better than all of them_?, a separate voice accused. It was his own, yet different somehow. More disdainful. That voice judged him a lot.

The door squeaked and the head of Heath Slater poked inside. "Yo, Bo, you comin'?"

Ah. Of course. Even little Bo Peep had his posse to tend to.

"Yeah, in a minute," Bo answered him.

In a minute? The hell was that "minute" supposed to contain? Baron sure wasn't sticking around for another second of his…his…weird niceness thing going on, let alone for sixty of them.

 _Screw it_. Baron heaved past Bo and yanked his locker open, retrieving his clothes in a handful. He refused to make contact with those smiling eyes of Bo's again. They made him feel uncomfortable as all hell. Baron stormed back towards the showers and hid himself away in a stall, hoping Bo would be gone by the time he emerged, fully clothed.

He was.

Baron was alone, yet again.

The way it should have been.

And Bo hadn't swiped Baron's trophy. Smart kid. He'd been eyeballing it pretty hard but he made the right call.

Baron set a hand atop his prize, atop Andre's obviously disproportional head. At the end of the day, the end of his 'Mania moment…what was this, really? What was the trophy?

Just metal and paint.

What was his life?

Just guaranteed hurt.

As for Bo Dallas?

Baron could only shake his head. Confusion bleached to insight. He was just like the rest of them. Haughty and loud and stupid.

And yet…

Baron's head tremored again. No. No " _and yet_." Bo Dallas was just another guy. He wasn't different. Weird, yes, but no different.

Maybe that kindness was just an act, too.

Fine then. Let him act his ass off.

Baron Corbin was the lone wolf and damn if it wasn't going to stay that way.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: For the sake of this story, let's pretend Adam's suspension doesn't exist for now...'k? ;-) Maybe I'll write it in later, I dunno...anyway. Enjoy! Thanks for the feedback!**_

* * *

The debate was pointless because the results were the same every time.

"I just thought we could do something different, you know?" Curtis Axel asked beside Bo in the backseat of the car. "We could catch a movie or go mini-golfing or something."

"At night?" Heath asked from the driver's seat, wrinkling his nose. Heath always drove. It was an unofficial regulation in the group.

"Yeah, I'm sure there's places still open." He was nearly out of suggestions already. "Or…a casino, or a restaurant or something."

"There's food where we're going," Adam Rose pointed out.

"I mean a _normal_ restaurant."

"Don't be fussy."

"But why does it have to be karaoke _every_ night?" Curtis groaned. "Don't you guys get bored embarrassing yourselves?"

"Embarrassing ourselves?" Heath asked with a brash chuckle. "Maybe _you_ feel all mortified and insecure, but I _live_ to perform in front of people. Especially when I know I'm good at what I do."

"Absolutely, Heathy baby," Adam said, grooming his fingers over Heath's bare arm.

Bo hadn't bothered to interject yet. What was the point? Curtis might protest the idea a bit more but he'd cave to Heath and Adam's insistence. He'd insist he wouldn't sing, but that too was a false statement. He rocked the house every time.

Bo loved his friends, tiring as their squabbling was.

But his thoughts were not on them in the moment. His thoughts weren't even in the car, sailing over the speed limit towards Charlie's, the first karaoke bar Google Maps had directed them towards. His thoughts were back in the AT&T Stadium, to fifteen or so minutes ago, on one man.

Baron Corbin.

His Wrestlemania appearance _had_ been a surprise to Bo; he'd just learned of it a bit earlier than the WWE Universe had. Imagine the surprise when Bo caught the strange and familiar sight of Baron in the locker room with them before the show started! Baron had entered the NXT after Bo left for the main roster. Bo was aware of him in the same was Baron was aware of Bo; they knew of one another, yet without _knowing_ each other. Hence the introductions Bo had made just minutes ago. He'd decided to put off saying hello until after the match. Bo understood needing time to yourself to focus your energy and concentrate your strength on the challenge ahead.

And he'd known Baron Corbin was handsome, but he was _striking_ in real life…gorgeous enough to make Bo's stomach feel all knotted up. Bo had a weakness for tattoos.

Baron was quiet, though. Bo could have even guessed _angry_ , but how could one be after winning such an important award in a major match?

Maybe he was shy.

"Well, we're about two minutes from the joint," Heath said. Underlying message: _quit your gripin'_.

"It'll be a fun night," Bo said at last.

Curtis leaned back in his seat. "Fine. But I ain't singing."

* * *

It took two or three drinks in Curtis Axel before he smacked an empty glass to the table and said, "Alright, let's do this."

Bo skipped onto the stage just ahead of his friends. But his head was reeling with thoughts of Baron. Was he the karaoke type? Would he be caught dead in a joint like this? Bo had a funny little daydream of Baron wandering into the place out of curiosity, or perhaps he somehow recognized their rental car and peeked inside to find out what they were doing here. Perhaps he'd hear Bo's above-average vocals and swoon.

Bo scoffed. Not even in his dreams. _Too_ unrealistic.

"What's up, Charlie's?" Heath greeted the crowd from the stage, voice bursting in the microphone. Bo kept close to his side. Adam was practically groping him on the other. "We're the Social Outcasts, and we're ready to shake this place to the ground."

The throng of drunks weren't impressed so far.

Lyrics on the screen proved to be unnecessary. A rhythm _tap—tap—tapped_ to signal the beginning of the song and the four men kicked off the intro in sync.

" _Is this the real life?_

 _Is this just fantasy?_

 _Caught in a landslide_

 _No escape from reality_

 _Open your eyes_

 _Look up to the skies and see_ …"

Adam would take over the first solo verse as the others' voices faded out with the words, " _To me_ …" Bo swayed on his feet, admiring Adam's gentle tone which could power itself to intensity whenever necessary. He pretended he wasn't checking out the crowd. A few were paying attention. Most kept to themselves. That was alright. They performed for the sake of others nearly every night of the week. This particular activity was more for their delight and theirs alone.

Bo was next. They'd done this plenty of times. He took a breath and channeled his inner Mercury.

" _Too late, my time has come_

 _Sent shivers down my spine_

 _Body's aching all the time_

 _Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go_

 _Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth_ …"

As the muscle of his words picked up gradually, Bo grew aggressively confident. He pretended Baron _was_ here, _was_ checking out the performance…he sang like Baron Corbin could fall in love with him over a smile, a verse, alone.

It was Curtis's turn. The other three served as his backup singers. He had the most fun of all of them yet he'd never admit to it. As much as he groaned and complained.

" _I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me_ …"

" _He's just a poor boy, from a poor family!_

 _Spare him his life from this monstrosity_ …"

Curtis was hopping on his toes by the end of the verse, eyes squished closed, screeching, "For _meeeeee_!" right on the note. Bo almost applauded him before Heath took the center of the little stage for his portion of the song. If anyone could truly rock a verse, it was Heath Slater. He even slashed at an invisible guitar, microphone crushed in the other hand.

" _So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye_

 _So you think you can love me and leave me to die_

 _Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby_

 _Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here_ …"

The Social Outcasts wiggled their hips, banged their heads, bounding from one side of the stage to the other and back again. Attention was on them now, whether in impression or total mockery and secondhand shame. Bo didn't care. He was having a great time.

 _Baron would probably laugh if he saw me_.

It didn't stop him.

The music eased towards its conclusion and Heath finished out the lyrics.

" _Nothing really matters_

 _Anyone can see_

 _Nothing really matters…_

 _Nothing really matters to me_."

Half the bar erupted with applause as the Social Outcasts took their bows, one at a time, then altogether. The other half were still downing their drinks to muster enough confidence to get on stage next.

Heath slung an arm over Bo. "You thirsty?"

"A bit."

Curtis was the most intoxicated of the four when they decided to call it a night. Heath was stable enough to drive. Adam was tipsy enough to "accidentally" grab for Heath's ass for balance. Bo was drunk on his own bliss; alcohol unrequired. What a life he lived. Amazing friends he could have adventures with, job of his dreams, laughter and good stories to tell by the day…all that was missing, really, was a man to make him feel special in a way his friends couldn't. The way Heath made Adam feel.

 _Now who could fit that bill_ …?

"Curtis, you throw up in the car, you're cleanin' it up," Heath mentioned. "We're only fifteen minutes from the hotel, so just hold it all inside, okay?"

"Ew," Adam said, grimacing.

"I'm fine," Curtis insisted.

Adam and Heath were sharing one hotel room, of course. Bo and Curtis would get the other. When the team first developed, the four would pile into one room and lose sleep over bickering and conversations about work. One or two men were always required to sleep on the floor, allowing the other two to take up the beds. Bo always got the first bed, for some reason; they never made him sleep on the floor. Curtis and Heath usually fought over the other. Nowadays it seemed silly to make anyone sleep on the floor, so two rooms were paid for and everyone got his own bed. Bo missed the days the four would stay together in a single room. Then again, he never had to complain about sleeping on the floor.

Curtis made it back to the hotel without puking or passing out. He stumbled into the room ahead of Bo, making a beeline for the bathroom. Bo lingered in the hallway with Adam and Heath.

"You did well tonight, Peep," Heath said, touching Bo's shoulder. "And I don't just mean on karaoke. I mean in the match."

"Oh, thanks. So did you, Crimson Werewolf," Bo answered him, smiling. He made eyes with Adam so Rose wouldn't feel left out. A Social Outcast no-no. "And you too, Mongoose."

Adam beamed. "It delights me that we can weather a free-for-all match without jumping on each other's backs."

"Nah," Heath said. "No trophy's worth what we got right here."

Bo agreed with all his heart.

"You go ahead in the room, Adam," Heath spoke, handing over his key card. "I'll be in in a minute."

"Don't keep me waiting, Heathy baby," Adam crooned.

 _Wonder how Heath feels with all that attention_ , Bo wondered. _Flattered? Annoyed? Creeped out? On cloud nine_?

Adam tapped Bo's cheek with his fingers and voiced, "Good night, Bo Peep."

"Good night."

Heath waited until the door closed behind Adam to ask, voice lower and more somber, "Everything okay with you?"

"What? Yeah, everything's great." The question had thrown him off. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I saw you and Corbin kind of staring each other down in the locker room earlier. Felt a little tension."

 _What kind of tension_? Bo drew in a breath.

"Anyway, I just wanted to make sure he wasn't trying to start nothin' with you."

"Oh, no, he's not," Bo blabbed, shaking his head. "I was welcoming him to the roster. That's all."

"Alright. Now, he's kind of an asshole, I'll warn you. So watch your back around him. But don't worry so much, because we've got your back, anyhow. If nothing else, I'll rip that greasy hair of his from his scalp if he bothers you."

"I appreciate it, Heath, but for now, that's unnecessary." For whatever reason Heath was the most protective of Bo. They all loved each other, sure, and spoiled Bo as the "youngest and cutest", but Heath went into big-brother mode for just about anything. Bo hadn't been resentful of such an attitude as of yet. But he didn't think Baron Corbin was going to be a problem. He hoped for everything that was the opposite.

"Alright." Heath nodded. "Just making sure."

"Thank you."

"'Night."

"Good night."

Bo Dallas slipped into his room and heard miserable groaning behind a cracked bathroom door. He knocked without letting himself in. "You alright, Curtis?"

"Get me a pillow, Bo. I'm spending the night in here."

"Okay. Let me bring you some ice and a snack."

"I don't want food."

"You'll feel better," Bo promised, moving towards the fridge. "The food will absorb all the alcohol."

"I'll throw it up."

"I'll leave it on the sink in case you change your name."

"Thanks," Curtis grunted.

Bo grabbed a pillow from the bed, filled a plastic cup with ice from the cooler, and retrieved a package of peanut butter crackers from his bag. He knocked on the door again, creeping inside. Curtis's cheek was pressed against the disgusting cool toilet bowl.

"Here you go, hon," Bo said, setting the ice and snack on the counter, then propping the pillow under Curtis's arm.

"Thanks, bro. Taking care of me like a sweet kid."

"It's what I do." Bo smiled. It was hard to take offense at a moniker like "kid", considering the great age difference between him and the others. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Mhm." Curtis scraped a hand over his sweaty face, eyes not opening.

Bo left him alone, changing into pajama bottoms and keeping his Social Outcasts shirt on for the night. It featured all four of their faces in mugshots, his absolute favorite piece of attire. Bo plugged his head into his phone and stuck the buds in his ears, keeping the volume low in case Curtis called out for him. Snuggling under the sheets, he let Coldplay and Baron Corbin dominate his mind's eye.

" _I wanna love you but I don't know if I can_

 _I know something is broken and I'm trying to fix it_

 _Trying to repair it, anyway I can_

 _You and me are floating on a tidal wave_

 _Together_

 _You and me are drifting into outer space_

 _Together_ …"

He fell asleep smiling, a final thought surfacing: _Welcome to the good life, Baron.._.


End file.
